The Oblivious Game
by Tarafina
Summary: Sam has had enough; he's calling them out. :Chlean:


**Title**: The Oblivious Game  
**Category**: Smallville/Supernatural  
**Genre**: Humor/Romance  
**Ship**: Chloe/Dean  
**Rating**: Teen  
**Word Count**: 820  
**Summary**: Sam has had enough; he's calling them out.

**_The Oblivious Game_**  
-1/1-

Sam needed a _very _strong cup of coffee, and quite possibly his own car, own hunt, and stock in ear plugs. Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast. He should be used to this; in fact, he probably was, he was just tired of it. He could put up with the flirtatious banter, the tension-filled longing looks, and even the way Dean seemed to get into one of his pissy, brooding Metallica moods whenever he thought she was interested in someone else. But he _couldn't _deal with it at five-thirty in the morning, before the already grumpy waitress had brought him his likely stale coffee and all the while knowing that things weren't going to get any better while on the road to the next job. He was exhausted, irritated, and according to Dean, he was having one of his 'monthly bitch-fests,' which meant he was being too irritable for Dean to get along with. Not so unusual, but eventually it all built up.

"Since _when _are you against _bacon n' eggs_?" Dean grumbled, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow lifted at the blonde next to him.

"Since we've eaten them every morning for a week straight," she sighed, pursing her lips. "I realize that 24 hour grease spots are a road trip staple, but couldn't we at least drop in on an IHOP? _Anywhere_ they might make the coffee fresh rather than scraping whatever's off the bottom of the pot into my mug?" She scowled down at her cup and then turned it on Dean. "You promised me whip cream and fresh strawberries, Winchester, pay up."

Any irritation vanished instantly as Dean's face soon shifted into flirtatious interest.

With a roll of her eyes, Chloe huffed. "On pancakes, _Rico Suave_, I'm not interested in what _you_ have to offer."

He snorted. "You signed up for this shindig, sweetheart. There weren't any incentives then, there ain't any now."

"The incentive was kicking evil ass, the only thing I get now is a professional playboy, bad coffee, and a mopey Sam." Tipping her head to one side, she stared at Sam a moment. "You feelin' okay?" Her expression turned genuinely concerned. "Is it the smell?" She wrinkled her nose while glancing around the diner. "I thought I'd get used to it, too. But it kind of just soaks into the skin."

Sam gave a soft laugh.

And Dean, apparently irritated his brother was getting the attention, shrugged Sam's mood off. "It's morning, he's sleepy. The big sad eyes fool ya."

Chloe glared back at him. "Or maybe he's suffering from being around you all this time."

Half-grinning, Dean lifted a shoulder. "Nobody's keeping him here. He can leave any time."

Sam was well aware the conversation was no longer about him.

"Duty outweighs personal comfort, Dean. When it comes down to stopping the apocalypse and just getting away from you, people have to pick for the betterment of others, not themselves."

"Yeah, yeah, pretty it up all you want. Fact is, Sammy doesn't wanna _be _anywhere else. He's just stubborn. Won't admit it."

"Admit _what?_" she shot back, eyes narrowing.

Dean grumbled, eyes turning away.

"Maybe it's not Sam who's having trouble leaving, hm? Maybe it's you. Maybe _you _don't want _him _to leave, and he knows that so he _doesn't_."

Growling, Dean leaned in toward her, "Hey, there's no apron strings here, sweetheart. He wants to go, he's free to. I'm not holding back anybody!"

"I hope you're not including _yourself _in that statement," she shot back, meeting him halfway across the little space they had, nearly nose to nose, "Because dense you may be but oblivious you're not!"

"What the hell's that suppose to mean?"

Sam, having had enough, slammed his fist down on the table. "For everybody's sakes will you _please _just get it over with already? Sleep together, date, have a handful of mouthy, crazy smart kids, and stop dragging me through the mud of your tension filled will-they-or-won't-they relationship!"

Turning toward him with furrowed brows of forced confusion, their mouths hung agape, questions going unasked.

Lifting from his seat, Sam stuffed his arms into his jacket. "I'll be in the car. Feel free to join me after you two fix this screwed up _thing _between you. And really do it this time. Because if either of you get in that car and pretend you aren't halfway in love with each other, I'm kicking you both out on the side of the road and letting you _walk _to the next job!" Leaving before they could answer, he stomped outside to the car where he climbed into the driver's seat, turned up Metallica and couldn't believe it was actually _better listening _than his two partners inside the diner. With a rueful smile, he only hoped they'd figure each other out this time, because he wasn't about to let them play oblivious anymore.


End file.
